"Upon my life! I believe I am!" said Frank Forester. "For I have not loaded my gun at all, since I killed those two last snipe. And, when we got up from luncheon, I put on the caps just as if all was right--but all is right now," he added, for he had repaired his fault, and loaded, before A--- or fat Tom had done staring, each in the other's face, in blank astonishment.
"Step up to Grouse, then," said Archer, who had never taken his eye off the old brown pointer, while he was loading as fast as he could. "He has got a bird, close under his nose; and it will get up, and steal away directly. That's a trick they will play very often."
"He haint got no bird," said Tom, sulkily. And Frank paused doubtful.
"Step up, I tell you, Frank," said Harry, "the old Turk's savage; that's all."
And Frank did step up, close to the dog's nose; and sent his foot through the grass close under it. Still the dog stood perfectly stiff; but no bird rose.
"I telled you there warn't no quails there;" growled Tom.
"And I tell you there are!" answered Archer, more sharply than he often spoke to his old ally; for, in truth, he was annoyed at his obstinate pertinacity.
"What do you say, Commodore? Is Grouse lying? Kick that tussock--kick it hard, Frank."
"Not he," replied A---; "I'll bet fifty to one, there's a bird there."
"It's devilish odd, then, that he won't get up!" said Frank.